Terror in the Skies
by Chamomile Pool
Summary: Hypothetical scenario in which the survival game was won by the woman who ran away. 9th Minene one-shot.


The door of the Omoi Taproom was gently pushed open. The light ripped into the dark atmosphere, separating from it like oil on water. An older gentleman, who appeared as though he were dressed for a hike, stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He had a sack over his shoulder and walked with heavy, clinking boots.

He had thick, olive-colored trousers and a dark blue knitted coat on and sat himself on a stool third from the right. It was an empty spot between a flirtatious young woman, leaning to her left, and a man in an overcoat, quietly sipping some sort of strong local drink. The newcomer reached into his pocket and pulled out a red envelope, sealed with a gold emblem. He slid it into the table and held it there with his fingers, which poked out of his fingerless gloves.

He had a burly grey and white-speckled beard, chopped to medium-length. Some curls of his hair were visible under his deerstalker cap. He had remarkably inquisitive blue eyes, which settled on the man to his right for a long while. He slid the envelope over.

The man on the right took a long sip from his drink and then, moving with as few muscles as possible, took the offered envelope and carefully opened it.

"You hear about the terror in the skies?" Asked the bearded man.

The other gave a slow nod. His face was difficult to read, given the poor lighting of the bar. A few kerosene lamps swayed above. "Who wants to know?"

The bearded man's hand, which had been resting on the table, tightened into a ball. "They call me Fred Heiman."

The man to the right chuckled and beckoned the bartender over with his other hand. "Pour him an Ooshima, on me." The bartender nodded and walked off. Neither man looked over at the other, as they waited. The bearded man was looking down at his brown hands, and the one on the right had taken the ring out of the envelope and was admiring the three precious stones involved in its design.

"I've been looking for over a decade," Heiman said quietly. "Gave everything up for this, and now, I guess I can't say I regret it. But that doesn't mean I never had my doubts." He clicked his tongue within his mouth. "But I'm sure, to you, I'm just another desperate wanderer, looking to make the world a better place."

The other man said nothing, even as the drink was brought over. Heiman grabbed the glass and chugged the brew down.

"Well, I tell you, I'm not," he said, before running his hand down the length of his face. He tugged at his beard. "I don't want to make the world a better place. I just want power."

A smile was elicited from the dark corner. The man on the right reached into his coat and pulled out a wad of money, which he set on the wooden countertop. He then rose from the stool and buttoned up his coat. Together with the young woman on the left, they lifted Fred Heiman, slumped forward against the counter, out of the Omoi Taproom.

When he came to, the bearded man was lying on cold stone. All of his body was shivering, except for his legs, which strangely enough were rather warm. He lifted himself up slightly and glanced over, only to find that some sort of little creature was sitting where the warmth was concentrated.

It was a little she-demon, he concluded, this imp that was whistling while sitting on his legs like they were natural furniture. He violently rose to his feet, abruptly knocking her down. "Where am I?" Heiman pulled out a pistol from within his knitted coat.

The creature, sitting with her hands down on the stone and her legs sprawled out in front of her, gave him a curious head-tilt. "I would think that someone who wanted to be here so badly would at least know where 'here' is…"

Heiman looked around. They were on a stone paved piece of land that, behind them, cut off suddenly, leading into the clouds themselves. In front of them, there was a massive castle. The main gate was composed of two stone doors, which were sealed in the center by the same emblem that sealed the red envelope he had given to the man at the bar.

"The Golden Monk," Heiman murmured. In his mind, the long pursuit of this secret symbol was conjured to his mind. Such a simple symbol containing untold mysteries! It was said, and said by few, that the ring and envelope were unacceptable without the proper seal of the Golden Monk. It was a brilliant gold representation of a crowned chipmunk.

To the average person, it seemed like a cutesy picture, but in reality, it was the key to reaching the Terror in the Skies—the massive castle that had been rumored to float above the world. Legend had it that those who obtained the Trinity Ring, placing it in a red envelope sealed with the Golden Monk, would be granted access to the Terror in the Skies. The world's braves adventurers and warriors would follow the difficult and puzzling trail of clues, before realizing the goal, only to never return to the world below. This was a place where one never returned from, and as such, it was considered by most to be either unreal or such a certain death sentence that it would be undesirable.

Heiman, however, concluded that such a dangerous place had to have dangerous secrets; these secrets, he also contended, could be used to his advantage. Men were cowardly creatures, weak social creatures that he felt sickened to be joined in company with. They spoke so often of brotherhood and community, but as a result, no one ever really stepped forward to _lead_. Through his travels to reach the Terror in the Skies, what he saw only proved to confirm his suspicion: the human race was a race of idiots that needed a powerful guide if they were ever going to progress.

"Hellooooooo!" Heiman turned around and found that the little demon was now floating towards him. She had all four limbs dangling down during what looked like a very lazy flight. "You've been staring at the building for forever! Are you going to go in, or not?"

Heiman, regaining his composure, scowled at the creature. "I will go at my own time. I have no interest in taking orders from an imp such as you."

The creature, with a slight gasp, defensively crossed her arms. "You don't even know me!" She pouted. "And if you did, you'd be treating me a lot better! After all, I'm not no ordinary imp—if you don't follow my lead, you won't make it anywhere in this castle."

He considered her words for a moment. No other living creature was in sight, and as things stood, he was trapped up in the sky with no food or water. The castle gates were closed and locked by the seal, that much was evident. He sighed and, with some displeasure, offered, "If you'd like, you can tell me a bit about yourself, so I at least know who I'm insulting."

The little devil liked the sound of that a lot more and responded, grinning, "I am Murumuru, servent of the god of time and space—a.k.a., the gatekeeper!"

A chuckle came from the man. "And now I see why I wanted to insult you," Heiman said. "God doesn't exist. Just some weak superstition to give encouragement to the simple-minded." He turned toward the gates, grinning. "But, I'll play along—Murumuru, O keeper of the gate! I beseech you, open these doors, so I may meet the lord of this world!"

He extended his hands toward the castle. His echoes of his booming voice faded without effect. A few seconds was all it took, before Heiman embarrassedly looked back. Murumuru had taken to painting her nails, a short distance away.

"What are you _doing_?" Heiman asked, approaching. "First you make fun of me for not going in, and now you won't even help open the door?"

Murumuru didn't even bother looking up from her feet. She gently applied some blue color to her toes. "It's not that simple, I swear!" She dabbed the brush into the little nail polish bottle. "I was hoping you'd rush toward the door and try to open it, because then you would've gotten a _massive_ shock. It's hilarious when they do that! The door is magically sealed, and I've been given strict orders not to break the seal all willy-nilly. First, you've got to prove yourself!"

What started out with a simple hike through the mountains became a series of trials. Murumuru teleported him to terrains he knew and terrains he had never before seen. Growing inside him was the sense that these places he was being placed in _did not even exist_, or if they did, they were in a world not his own. He was given missions by Murumuru, to infiltrate high security areas, to blow up temples, to make hasty escape routes against frightening odds, and still—even after all this—he had not gained entrance to the castle.

"Enough!" Heiman shouted. He was leaning forward with his hands on his knees, taking quick breaths. The portal closed between him and the gates. "I've proven myself more than enough. Let me inside, miserable demon!"

Murumuru, who was sitting cross-legged, looked at him and puffed out a big sigh. "Fine," she whined, "That last one is the last one. Just give me what you found."

Heiman was now satisfied and reached into his blue jacket, to pull out a small bottle. It was made of glass and had a silky pink liquid inside. "Here's your 'fountain of youth'! Fresh from the source!" He gave a shout and tossed it her way; Murumuru snatched the bottle before it could shatter on the stone. She set it down and, after some straining, popped out the cork. She took dipped her brush into the bottle and began to apply it to her toenails, to give them a nice pink luster and youthful appearance.

Murumuru leaned back and wiggled her toes. "You're in such a hurry to get inside," she started. "But I really don't see what all the fuss is about. The god of time and space is not any more interesting than the people down below—just bossier and louder than most." Nonetheless, she snapped her fingers, and from behind Heiman, he could hear the gates open.

Far from pearly, they were ugly grey slabs, but the sight of them parting lifted Heiman's beaten spirits. He started off running through them, in case the little imp decided to change her mind and make him go fetch her some magical hairpins.

The inside was dark. After coming out from the sunshine, after standing among the clouds, he was in a large, ominous space lit by only a few torches on the walls. There were three paths: a door to the left, a door to the right, and a staircase going up.

Heiman advanced up the stairs, which led him into a hallway. He traced his hand along the stone wall, snatching a cobweb along the way and having to wave a beastly spider off before it could advance up his arm. He continued to investigate, only to find himself in quite a maze. Each route he took led him to more hallways and stairs and rooms, none of which seemed to contain treasure or even a hint of this supposed god of time and space.

He was about to consider this all some ridiculous joke, when he found an exit he had previously somehow missed—a door cracked ajar, halfway down the hallway he had returned to. The speckled-bearded man sucked in his breath before entering.

Before him was a stretch of red and gold carpet that climbed up a short series of stairs, before stopping at a seated throne. A woman's shape was revealed through a deep red cloak. From within her hood, dark purple hair could be seen.

"Fred Heiman," called out the woman. "Make your move." She lifted one of her arms from the armrest of the chair to beckon him over. The whole of her face was covered by the shadows. The throne room was brighter than any other in the building, but even the multitude of stained glass windows rising to the high ceiling did not dispel the shadows of her cloak.

Heiman strutted forward. The door closed behind him, and he caught sight of something moving to his right. He drew his pistol and aimed immediately; stopping the figure just a second or two before it would have struck with the knife in its hand. The assassin was dressed in black, complete with light armor and a minimalist face mask. All that separated his identity from Heiman's vision was a thin conic mask, with a point stretching past the chin and a rounded top that went above the figure's head.

Heiman, without the slightest bit of hesitation, shot the assassin in black, sending a spray of blood to the floor, along with the body. He held still to his pistol as he ascended the throne.

"I have given up the past 11 years to get here," he said. He raised the pistol in his hand, so that it was aimed for the woman's head. "And now I get here, and you send one of your men to do away with me, without even giving me a proper hearing? Now, now. I think that's very unfair."

The woman chuckled. "The last thing you know this world to be is fair." She grasped her hood with both her hands and slowly brought it down. Two purple eyes met Heiman's. "And if you think I don't know how unfair your life has been, then you really are as ignorant as you sound. You come in here, as though I owe you something. When in reality, you wouldn't even _exist_ without me."

Heiman wanted to pull the trigger, but at the same time, he had not come all this way to not have the mystery go unsolved. "Who are you?" He pressed.

A sharp grin was drawn across the woman's face—a wide, terrifying grin. "I am Uryuu Minene, the Goddess of Causality!" He waved her hand, and the weapon in Heiman's hand went flying across the room, before striking the wall.

Nervously, the man chuckled and started up, "But, the notion of there being a god—in this lawless world—why, it's so absurd, that only one who has gone mad while living nearly alone in a floating castle could entertain such—"

Minene, who, for her part, seemed to be totally ignoring her intruder, looked past his shoulder and toward the body on the ground. "Nishijima," she called, softly but loudly. "Get up off the floor. You're embarrassing."

The assassin in black remained still for a moment, before groaning and rising to his feet. As he walked toward them, blood continued to drop from the wound.

"What is this?" Heiman barked, looking back at the newly risen man and then at Minene. "Is this supposed to prove that you can bring about resurrection? Show some originality if you're going to try to pull such illusions…"

Minene cut his trailed speech off. "I can't bring the dead back to life," she looked toward Nishijima, out of the corner of her eye. "That's something no one can do. You can't drag the past into the future. Only new futures can be created." Her eyes returned to Heiman. "But if you still don't believe that there is a god, even when she is sitting right in front of you, you've come to the wrong place after all. It is a marvel how someone so stupid could get so far."

Heiman, after finding Minene unable to be stared down, turned to look at Nishijma. The latter had taken off his mask, to his face and messy brown hair. It was clear now; he was the same man he had given the red envelope to at the bar. Heiman turned away from him, as well, and made his way down the stairs. He followed the red carpet down the stairs and was halfway out the door when he was called once more by Minene.

"Nishijima and I can't die, because of the power we share. If it's power you seek, then leaving this place now, after all you've done to get here, would be damnable."

Heiman turned around and looked toward the throne. The light from the stained-glass windows focused upon it intently. He looked up at them all. In them, he found the story that Minene was about to describe in detail—a cruel survival game, created by a god who seemed to revel in human violence.

"I dedicated my entire life to destroying the idea of god," Minene explained. "Because any god that would allow what happened to me deserved to be mocked. When I saw Deus, I could not deny it any further—there was a god, but it was a despicable creature. I learned as I went why I had been chosen: I had been chosen not because Deus wanted me to win, but because Deus wanted me to be humiliated through losing."

"I was set up to fail in every imaginable scenario," she explained. "My Escape Diary made me reliant on other Diary holders. If I remained with 4th, he and I would have been killed by 11th and his allies 8th and 7th. If I remained with 1st and 2nd, I would have to at some point kill one of them, and the other would hunt me mercilessly. Deus put me in the survival game because he knew I would lose. Anyone who spends all her time just running away can never succeed."

Heiman thought about her story for a moment, and then asked quite naturally, "If what you say is all true… How _did_ you manage to win?"

Minene looked toward Nishijima and smiled. It was a different smile than before; it was a tame smile. "Maybe it was fate," she said, before chuckling. "Or maybe it was just luck."

Nishijima placed his hand suddenly on Heiman's shoulder. "After we got a good idea of what the powers of a god could really do, we started spreading the rumor about the Terror in the Skies. Early on, I went down and left clues and challenges, designed to lure out the strongest and most courageous people. Everything you heard in the stories is true: this is a dangerous place with a hidden power. I am sure you have also heard, then, about the other part: that no one has ever returned to tell of exactly what that power is."

Heiman nodded.

"We have our reasons for keeping the humans below in the dark," Minene continued. "But all you need to know is that you're not exception. Each time someone like you comes up here, we give you a choice."

Nishijima dropped his hand from Heiman's shoulder and stood by Minene's side. "We can give you a portion of our power," he explained. "Which also means a portion of pain. No one can be a happy god forever. Deus, alone in the sky, became so violent that the natural choice of a killing game was the only logical way to decide on a successor in his eyes. We do not want to become so reckless as that, so we have reached the conclusion that no one should be alone forever: not even god."

Minene, who by now had risen to her feet, shone under the light that seemed to be seeping in at an advancing rate. "But you do have a choice," she explained. "You can accept this power, and along with it, spend eternity with us and others who have accepted this power and this corresponding responsibility… Or you can return to the world below, without any memory of this place or anything in the past 11 years that have led up to us meeting like this. You cannot choose both. You cannot have both heaven and earth, Fred Heiman."

She stepped down from the throne and proceeded around it. Nishijima was at her heels. Wherever they walked, the growing light from the stained glass windows followed them, like a stage spotlight. She placed her hand on a door that remained previously unseen at the back of the room. Heiman made his way to the midpoint, between the throne and the door.

"And so I ask you… Which matters more: The world of your past, or the future holds?"


End file.
